


The Stiles Solution

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan goes for a night out, and ends up with way more than he bargained for. Luckily, he has Stiles to help him figure things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stiles Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Bingo (“Jordan Parrish” + “wingfic”).
> 
> TW: Jordan has his drink drugged, but nothing of a sexual nature happens.

The call comes early in the morning, and Stiles spends a long moment blinking at the caller ID before he answers. 

“Jordan?” he says groggily. “What’s wrong?” It has to be something important, for Jordan to be calling him before eight on a Thursday. Its summer, and the pack knows he enjoys sleeping in.

“Can you come over?” Jordan says instead of answering. 

Stiles sits up at that. “Are you okay?” he asks, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jordan says. “Mostly. It’ll just be easier if you see for yourself. Please come over,” he says, and there’s a note of desperation in his tone now. It makes Stiles nervous.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, swinging his legs out of bed. “Just give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll head over there.”

“Thank you,” Jordan says quietly.

*

Stiles feels his body humming with anticipation as he walks up to Jordan’s house. It’s still early, and the street is quiet, nothing to suggest anything being amiss. It’s got to be something supernatural, though. Stiles has essentially become the go-to for things like that.

“Jordan?” he calls, knocking on the door.

“Hey, Stiles,” Jordan calls, and he sounds kind of sheepish. “Don’t freak out, okay? Come on in,” he says, and Stiles hears the sound of the deadbolt retracting. 

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, turning the knob and stepping inside. 

Compared to the sunlit street, Jordan’s house is pitch black, and Stiles squints, trying to make out any shapes in the darkness. All the blinds and curtains must be drawn. “Jordan?” he calls warily. He reaches back, ready to open the door again if he needs to.

“Yeah,” Jordan says, from way closer than he expected, and Stiles startles back a step. 

“Damn it, Jordan,” he hisses. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Now you know how I felt when I woke up this morning,” Jordan says, sounding amused. “I’m going to turn on a light, okay? You might want to close your eyes.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, squeezing them tightly shut. When he opens them again, he can’t help his gasp of surprise.

Jordan stands by the lamp, wreathed by a pair of huge white wings. They curve up over his shoulders and end past his knees, and they look beautiful, powerful.

“You look like an angel,” is the first thing Stiles’ mouth decides to say.

“Thanks,” Jordan says wryly, stepping closer.

And Stiles notices suddenly that he’s not wearing a shirt. _Of course he’s not, how would he even put one on?_ He tries not to get fixated on the sight of Jordan’s bare chest, because now is not the time.

“What happened to you?” he asks, bewildered.

“I don’t know! I woke up this way,” Jordan huffs, and his wings spread wide when he shrugs. The sight is honestly breathtaking.

“You mind if I have a closer look?” Stiles asks, trying not to sound completely awestruck. He wants to help, but he has no point of reference for spontaneous wing generation. This is completely new territory.

“Sure,” Jordan says, turning so Stiles can see his back.

The wings jut out from either side of Jordan’s spine, and powerful muscles curve over his shoulder blades to support them. They’re real, he knows, but they look so perfect and detailed that they almost seem fake. If it weren’t for the subtle movements they made, he’d think he was looking at a Hollywood prop.

He reaches out and carefully brushes the skin where they’re attached, and Jordan shivers.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, flinching away. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not at all. You just surprised me,” Jordan says sounding embarrassed. 

Stiles leans in for a closer look. The area where the wings join isn’t red or irritated, nothing looks painful. In fact, nothing seems particularly _wrong_ about them, except that they’re not supposed to be there at all.

He’s staring intently at each individual feather when Jordan suddenly says, “You can touch them again. It’s okay.” He almost sounds…pleading, and his wings tremble slightly, curving backward toward Stiles.

He reaches out, trails his fingers along the edges, ruffling the feathers before sinking them into the downy softness. He gently fluffs them, watches the way they flutter and resettle themselves. They feel so good against his skin, and he wants Jordan to wrap him up in his wings, preferably while they’re both na—

He cuts that thought of quick, jerking away. He tries to play it off, slowly circling back around until he’s facing Jordan again. His heart is still beating way too fast. Thank god Jordan isn’t a werewolf. 

“So, have the wings affected you?” he asks, trying to distract himself.

Jordan gives him an incredulous look.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Besides the obvious. What I mean is, do you still have your _burning dedication_? Your _flaming passion_? Your—”

“Yes, I’m still a Hellhound,” Jordan says, cutting Stiles off before he can really get on a roll.

“Okay,” Stiles says. Then, “When you change, do the wings catch on fire too? Can I see? Come on Jordan, be a pal.”

“No,” Jordan says firmly. “You make too many references to fire around me already. The other deputies think you’re a pyromaniac, or something,” he says, shaking his head. “So I’m not going to encourage you.”

“Aww, come on,” Stiles wheedles. “You know you love my jokes.”

“Sometimes,” Jordan concedes. “When they’re _appropriate_.” He laughs at Stiles’ expression. “Now, can we focus up? I’m supposed to work tomorrow.”

“Right, right,” Stiles says, looking away when Jordan crosses his arms, the wings spreading wide.

He pulls a pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket, and plops down on Jordan’s couch. Jordan sits down on the coffee table across from him, his wings folding in close.

“Okay,” Stiles says, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Let’s make a timeline of what happened. You were at work yesterday, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” Jordan says. “I went home around six.”

“And nothing weird happened at the station? No strange reports or suspicious people?” Stiles asks.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. It was a pretty boring day, actually.”

“Boring,” Stiles confirms, scribbling a note on the paper. “What did you do after work?”

“I showered and got dressed to go out,” Jordan says.

Stiles’ head comes up at that. “Where’d you go?” he asks as casually as possible. He hadn’t imagined Jordan to be the clubbing type. 

“The Jungle,” Jordan says, nonchalant. “I like to go when I have a night off.”

Stiles hasn’t been to the Jungle since high school, and he’s definitely regretting that decision now. Clearly he’s been missing out.

“I didn’t know you were, uh,” he wants to say _one of us_ , because the Jungle is a certain kind of club, but figures that sounds too weird. “Into guys,” he finishes awkwardly.

“How could you not?” Jordan says, exasperated. “I flirt with you all the time.”

“Yeah, as a _joke_ ,” Stiles huffs. “Anyway, what happened last night?”

“I wasn’t—” Jordan says, then breaks off, shaking his head. “I was dancing for a while,” he says, and Stiles’ eyes widen. “And then I was hanging out at the bar.”

“You got drunk?” Stiles asks, making another note.

“No,” Jordan says. “I only had a couple of drinks. Then this guy showed up, asked if he could buy me another.” He rubs his hand over his face. “I said yes, and after I drank it, he started asking me a lot of questions.”

“Like what?” Stiles asks. Hopefully this is a clue.

“I don’t…I don’t really remember,” Jordan says, sounding nervous. “It all seems kind of hazy.”

“Shit,” Stiles says. “I’m betting there was more than just alcohol in that drink. And considering your side effects,” he says, gesturing to Jordan’s wings, “I’m going to guess it was a supernatural creature.”

Jordan nods. “He was strangely beautiful, even under all that body glitter,” he says. “I do remember that.”

Stiles stares at him a long moment, unsure how to respond. He idly wonders what Jordan’s type is. “I’m going to head to the Jungle, ask some questions. Then I’ll stop by the station, and let my dad know you caught an acute case of supernatural-itis. While I’m gone, try to go over what happened again, especially what kind of things he was asking you.”

“Okay,” Jordan says, nodding. “Be careful.”

*

Stiles returns a few hours later. 

“All right,” he says, when Jordan lets him in. “The staff confirmed that you were definitely with a guy last night. The bartender said the guy bought you a drink, and you started acting kind of odd after you drank it.”

“So he definitely drugged me,” Jordan says. “Wait, what do you mean by _odd_?”

“Well,” Stiles says, hedging. “The bartender said when he sees you there, you’re usually…kind of uptight. But after that drink, you were really relaxed and talkative. He said he didn’t peg you for a lightweight.”

“It’s hard to let go after being a cop all day,” Jordan says defensively.

“Hey, I’m not here to judge,” Stiles says, laughing. “It’s cool man, I get it. Anyway, the bartender said you guys grabbed a booth and started talking.”

“People don’t usually go to the booths to just talk,” Jordan says warily.

“Well, apparently you did,” Stiles says. “I checked with the waitresses. Here’s the funny thing—I asked them all for a description of the guy, and I got three different answers. The only consistent thing they said is that they all thought he was very good-looking.” He shrugs. “You remember anything?”

“Some,” Jordan says. “He came up to me, smiling, and said I looked like I needed to loosen up. And after I had that drink, I started to feel like I should trust him,” he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “And then he started asking me a lot of questions.”

“You remember what about?” Stiles asks worriedly. Someone could get a lot of intel about the pack by asking the right questions.

“He asked me if I was interested in anyone, if I was planning to take someone home,” Jordan says. “When I told him I wasn’t, he wanted to know why.”

Stiles nods. Those are fairly standard night club questions.

“And then you came up,” Jordan says, and Stiles feels his stomach drop. He really doesn’t need to be the target of another supernatural creature. 

“Me?” he asks, trying to stay calm. Of all the members of the pack, why would the creature be interested in him? He’s not a banshee or a hellhound or a were-anything. He’s just a human. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. It’s all pretty fuzzy,” Jordan says apologetically. “I just remember him asking questions about you. What you were like, the things you did for the pack, stuff like that.”

“That doesn’t seem that useful,” Stiles says, brow wrinkling. “What was he trying to get a date with me?” he jokes.

Jordan shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he asked me if you were seeing anyone, and if I knew what you were into.”

“Seriously, how is this my life?” Stiles mumbles, shaking his head. “Anyway, I think the next step is for me to go talk to Deaton. I told my dad about your…predicament, and he said you have the next few days off.”

Jordan nods, but his wings are drooping sort of unhappily. 

“I’ll, um, drop back by when I finish talking to him,” Stiles says. “I could maybe pick up some food, too?”

Jordan grins. “That would be great,” he says, and Stiles can’t help noticing how his wings have fluffed back up.

*

“He’s pretty sure it was a trickster,” Stiles says as he carries in a couple of bags of Chinese takeout. “Said it was likely he’s already moved on from here,” he says, shrugging. 

“Why would a trickster be at a gay nightclub?” Jordan asks.

“Pretty sure nightclubs can’t have a sexual orientation,” Stiles snarks as he unpacks the containers of food. “But seriously, why is anyone ever at a club? Deaton says tricksters get bored sometimes, like to interact with the human world. Then, as the name implies, they like to play tricks.”

“So that’s what this is?” Jordan says, gesturing at his wings. “A trick?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Stiles says, sitting down at the table. “Deaton’s not really sure why it’d do that. He said it’s not their usual kind of prank. Guess it’s a mystery.”

“But how do I get rid of them?” Jordan asks, settling in the chair across from them. “I’d like to leave the house at some point.”

“Halloween’s in a few months, you’d be pretty epic then,” Stiles says, grinning.

Jordan gives him an unimpressed look.

“I’m kidding. We’re looking into a way of breaking the spell, but even if we can’t, Deaton says it’ll likely fade in a few days,” Stiles says.

Jordan nods. “The sooner the better.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Stiles says, filling his plate. “I’ll head back over there tomorrow, do some more research.”

Jordan sends him a grateful look. 

*

“You know,” he says when they’ve finished eating, a smile still on his face from Stiles’ latest joke. “I’m actually kind of glad this happened.” He ducks his head. “It’s been nice, spending time with you.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, ignoring Jordan’s startled face, his mind racing. “It was doing you a _favor_ ,” he says, slamming his hand down on the table. 

“What?” Jordan says, confused.

“You weren’t joking about flirting with me, were you?” Stiles asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “That’s what you told the trickster, when he asked why you weren’t interested in anyone in the club, right? That’s how I came up, and that’s why he started asking questions about me,” he says, his voice speeding up with his excitement.

Jordan’s starting to look a little nervous now, but he doesn’t deny anything, so Stiles keeps rolling on.

“And that’s when he found out I was the pack’s go-to for dealing with supernatural stuff. He knew that if he did something to you, I’d be your first call,” he says with certainty. 

“You’re telling me a trickster decided to, what, play matchmaker for me?” Jordan asks, skeptical. 

“Hey, I could see why he’d take a liking to you,” Stiles says, standing up and holding out a hand. “Come on, let’s test my theory.”

“What?” Jordan says, even as he lets Stiles haul him up out of his chair.

“Here,” Stiles says, tugging Jordan closer and wrapping his arms around his waist. He can’t help smiling at the way Jordan’s wings fold in around them both.

“You never said if you were interested in me,” Jordan says softly, eyes intent on Stiles’ face.

“Would I be standing this close if I weren’t?” Stiles asks, grinning. 

“Well,” Jordan says, tilting his head and pretending to think about it. “You might just want to be really good friends,” he says teasingly.

Stiles laughs. “See if this feels like friendship to you,” he says, leaning in and softly kissing Jordan on the lips.

The wings disappear instantly, but Stiles doesn’t.

He stays.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
